


Another Form of Communication

by everlovingdeer



Series: Harry Potter Short Stories [156]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Muteness, Sign Language, selective mutism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-30
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:41:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22481980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everlovingdeer/pseuds/everlovingdeer
Summary: Did you learn sign language so you could talk to me?He made a motion as if slicing his right hand through his left –Of courseHe wanted me to askwhyhe’d put all the effort into learning an entire language for me.So, I asked; pointing my index finger, I touched the opposite shoulder twice –Why?For a moment, Weasley didn’t answer. Rather, he seemed to hesitate as he tried to decide what answer to give me. Whatever he decided, I simply hoped he was going to give me the truth – no matter what it was.He sighed slightly, speaking aloud yet quietly as he said, “I wanted to be your friend.”
Relationships: Hugo Weasley/Original Female Character(s), Hugo Weasley/Reader
Series: Harry Potter Short Stories [156]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1461751
Comments: 5
Kudos: 105





	1. Another Form of Communication

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally posted to other sites on 14/10/19

Sometimes, the most laidback professors were the harshest markers, if I believed what my friends were saying at least. My friends, talking idly as we walked from Charms to Transfiguration, complained about the grade that Professor Boot had given them for their essay. Or rather, Reagan was complaining about the grade _she’d_ received for the essay which was, from what I saw of it, at least half a foot shorter than was requested.

“You’re just annoyed that you couldn’t get away with batting your pretty eyes at Professor Boot,” Noelle scoffed, nudging me with her elbow. I couldn’t help but share her smile. “Face its Yearwood, you actually need to start putting in the work.”

“Oh, be quiet Andri,” Reagan sighed, linked her arm through mine as we turned onto the more crowded corridors. “Not everyone can be the perfect Ravenclaw swot that you are.”

“ _Hey!”_ Noelle leaned around me to hit Reagan on the arm, “All 3 of us are Ravenclaw swots.”

This time I nudged Reagan as if to say Noelle had a point. Conceding with a sigh, Reagan looked towards me with a smile as she pleaded, “Will you help me with the next essay? Miss swotty-pants over there won’t help me.”

To cut an argument short, I nodded quickly and lengthened my paces. They both had to speed up to keep up with me, and their argument was dismissed as we struggled to navigate our way through the crowds of people that were walking in the opposite direction to us.

“If I’m being honest,” Noelle started slowly and making me look curiously towards her, “I’m actually dreading getting our Potions essays back from Zabini. He’s probably the most horrible marker out of the lot of them.”

I nodded in agreement, laughing slowly when Reagan let out a long-suffering groan. “Bloody Potions – I swear, I’m a failure of a Ravenclaw.”

“You said it not me.” Noelle ducked away, narrowly avoiding the swipe Reagan aimed at her.

“Do you think,” Reagan started in a voice that spelt trouble – one that made Noelle laugh already. Knowing she’d get no reaction from Noelle, Reagan focused her attention solely on me, “Do you think if I seduced Professor Zabini he’d increase my grade?”

“As if he’d be so easily seduced,” Noelle scoffed.

Silently I agreed; she had a point. If it was really so easy to seduce Professor Zabini, then he’d have fallen victim to countless love potions by now. As we still walked, I couldn’t help but wonder just when Reagan would begin to actually complete her work rather than focusing on all these _other_ methods of raising her grades. That was Raegan’s issue – she was so curious about so many things, that her academics fell behind. Noelle was the opposite; her academic drive being unparalleled in anyone else I knew. Merlin, sometimes we joked that she needed to get some hobbies in her life.

I was brought, quite roughly, out of my contemplations when someone ran past us. In their haste to get around us, likely because they were running late to a lesson, someone collided with me, making my bag tumble to the floor. Whilst my friends shouted for the person to watch where they were going, I leaned down to pick my things. I reached out a hand towards my inkpot as it rolled down the corridor, coming to a stop by the feet of the person who’d knocked into me. The person – a boy, kneeled down pick up the inkwell and I caught a flash of red and gold – a Gryffindor then. Rowena, I wasn’t surprised.

Rising to my feet, I waited as the Gryffindor stood as well. He held out the inkwell for me, offering me an apologetic smile. I took the inkwell silently, checking to make sure the lid was on properly before tucking it safely into my bag.

“I’m sorry,” Weasley apologised, gesturing behind him towards a group of Gryffindors – his friends, I assumed from the way they were heckling at him to get a move on. “I didn’t mean to knock into you; Mum always says I need to watch where I’m going.”

He held my eyes open for a long moment as if expecting a response and Rowena, that was enough. His patient silence was enough to have my own anxiety creeping in, skyrocketing as I found myself physically able to respond. As if the words were trapped in my throat, I didn’t try to speak – I just needed to get away. Knowing me well enough, Noelle and Reagan were instantly at my side, standing guard as if to defend me from him. They already started to usher me away, giving the Gryffindor a wide berth and shooting his friends an annoyed look as we walked past them.

“She’s bloody rude,” one of his friends murmured and I knew they were talking about me. It was obvious and Merlin I couldn’t say a word to defend myself. Instead, I held on tighter to my friends and willed us to get to the safety of the Transfiguration classroom quickly.

“ _Arsehole!”_ Raegan shouted in return, completely ignoring the scandalised look she got from some of the first years who walked right past us. “Oh, grow up already.” 

* * *

One of the most impossible things to do whilst at Hogwarts was to find yourself on the good side of the librarian. The librarian, who had been working at Hogwarts for decades now, was one of the more strict and sombre members of staff, doing her best to make sure that all rules were followed by students in her domain. She ran a tight ship, often walking around the library to make sure that no students had smuggled themselves off to an abandoned corner of the library to get some privacy. Rowena knew why they were willing to risk the embarrassment of the being verbally dressed down by Pince when they could’ve just snuck off into one of the numerous empty classrooms that were just never used. Pince was so often having to tell students off, that she always watched us all with narrowed suspicious eyes.

But, by nothing short of a miracle, Pince liked me. At first, I’d thought that I’d been mistaken – wanting to be liked by a member of staff renowned for hating students – but then, when I saw how she addressed other students in my year, my suspicions were confirmed. I had the faint inkling that she liked me because I just didn’t talk; that I followed the rules of her library and listened patiently whenever she spoke to me. In fact, she sometimes let me hang around a few minutes past curfew so I could avoid the smothering crowd on my way to the common room and even gave me a note that I could use as an excuse for being out past curfew if I was ever caught by a Professor or a Prefect. In return, I helped her by returning books that had been abandoned by students throughout the day to their rightful place. Pince was grateful for the help.

Humming quietly to myself, I pushed the trolley of books down the shelves, scanning the numbered codes on the books to find the right section. Stopping the trolley, I picked up the book – _House-elf rights and Advancing Magical Britain_ – and returned it to the rightful space. Turning back to the trolley, I grasped the handle between dry palms and continued on my way, preparing to round the corner. Only, I stopped still – coming just short of ramming the trolley right into the Gryffindor who rounded the corner. Caught by surprise, I raised a hand to my hammering chest and taking a moment to catch my breath.

The Gryffindor – Weasley – offered me an apologetic smile that I struggled to return. Rather than lingering a moment longer, I felt that familiar anxiety creeping up my throat – being reminded of our last encounter – and I breathed out sharply. Steering the trolley around him, I hurried to continue on my way and turned into the next set of shelves. Weasley followed behind, trailing faithfully after me as I closed my eyes for a brief moment; why was he still following me?

“Pladino?” he called out from behind me and when it seemed like I wasn’t going to stop to talk to him, he quickened his paces. Weasley walked around me, standing on the other side of the trolley and holding on the railing, holding it in place. I dropped my hands quickly to my side, meeting his eyes just long enough to see the quizzical way he watched my response to him. Coming to whatever conclusion, he spoke slowly like he believed I was easily spooked, “I just wanted to apologise – for yesterday. I hadn’t meant to bump into you and my friends are absolute _idiots._ You shouldn’t listen to what they were saying.”

Drawing my bottom lip into my mouth, I hesitated to look at him again. Eventually, I raised my eyes to him and tried my very best not to shirk away again. It took a ridiculous amount of courage, and even then, I couldn’t speak – unsurprisingly. Dropping my eyes again, I grabbed the notebook and quill from the bottom shelf of the trolley and scribbled quickly. I held out the notebook towards Weasley so he could read the two words –

_It’s alright_

He frowned, brows furrowing for a moment as he looked between the notebook and my face. Bringing the notebook once more towards me, I held it close and waited. Surely, he would just leave now? Rather –

“If you’re sure,” he said after a long moment. “As long as you weren’t offended by anything that was said.”

_You didn’t offend me_

This time, he didn’t focus long on the notebook and my unorthodox way of communicating. Instead, he breathed out as if relieved and dropped his hand from the railing. He gave a soft smile, one that was so unexpected that it took me by surprise. Abruptly, he outstretched a hand towards me as if for me to shake it, “I’m Hugo – Hugo Weasley.”

There was a long silence before I reached hesitantly for his hand. Shaking it softly, I hurriedly withdrew my hand and wrapped it safely once more around the handle of the trolley. I made no move to introduce myself; he’d already called me by my surname. Instead, I waited for him to do something – speak more and get no response, or just leave. I personally preferred the latter. Weasley remained under my eyes for a long moment, silently willing me to speak but I wouldn’t. Eventually, he stepped away from my trolley, moving to the side so I could continue on with my business, “I won’t keep you any longer.”

I nodded silently, pushing the trolley again and continuing on my way. With some distance between us, I felt like my throat which had closed up at the sight of him, loosened and I breathed deeply. Merlin, it was easier to speak now.

“Thank Rowena,” I muttered to myself, grateful that Weasley at least wasn’t chatty. Members of his large extended family were always entering the school or graduating – and if rumours were to be believed, being interviewed for teaching positions as well – but so far, he’d seemed like the least chatty of them all. 

* * *

Some Professors, it seemed, just loved ruining my day. Of course, I knew that they weren’t out to spite me, but I couldn’t help to think that Professor Boot really was making my day much worse than it needed to be. What was the point in switching our seating arrangements?

Of course, he’d started this lesson prefacing it with an announcement that because of a certain pairing at the back of the classroom – two Gryffindors because it was _always Gryffindors_ – couldn’t seem to concentrate on the lesson, they were going to be split apart. And if they were going to split apart, Professor Boot felt more comfortable with reassigning seats for everyone. Because the two Gryffindors – ex-girlfriends who couldn’t seem to be civil to one another after their breakup, had prompted this reshuffling, I knew that I wasn’t going to be seated beside Reagan again. I could only pray that I’d wound up with Noelle but guessing by the way the partners Professor Boot had so far assigned were all Ravenclaw-Gryffindor, my hope was fading away.

 _Merlin,_ everything was so much easier if I was sat beside my friends. I could concentrate on the lesson without worrying about being judged by something I was doing, or because of my silence. And the best part was that if I knew no one was paying attention to us, I could actually _talk_ to them to verbalise my confusion. The small comfort I had during these lessons was once more drained away.

In fact, Charms became even more uncomfortable than necessary when Professor Boot assigned my seat beside Weasley. I took a moment to steel myself, holding my bag to ground me as I walked towards the table and ignored the murmurs coming around from people around us. Approaching the table, I looked to Noelle who was sitting at the table behind ours and breathed a small sigh of relief at having her so close.

My eyes shifted towards Weasley who offered me an encouraging smile as I took my seat. I turned to the front once more, smiling behind my palm when Reagan was assigned to the table in front of us and I couldn’t help but look towards Professor Boot. Professor Boot, like all the Professors, knew of my condition and offered me a small nod as if to say that this was the best he could do to ensure my comfort. I smiled back, nonetheless; this was better than anything else.

As Professor Boot continued to assign the pairings, I turned towards Weasley when I felt his eyes waiting on me. I arched an eyebrow but turned once more to face the front.

“Hello,” he said simply, looking towards the front of the class as well. I wondered silently if he’d picked up on how uncomfortable I was with eye contact; surely not? Only, I’d have assumed he didn’t want to get caught talking to me, but part of me was sure he’d figured it out. He was known to be extremely smart.

“I don’t want to intrude.” He glanced to me from the corner of his eye, watching me still.

Eventually, I sighed and wrote quickly on my parchment _What?_

“I’ve seen you use sign language in the corridors,” he admitted and before I could ponder over when he’d spied me using sign language, he continued, “and I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak – ”

 _Selective Mutism –_ I wrote before he could get it wrong. People had guessed so many things; that I was deaf and simply amazing at reading lips, that my vocal cords hadn’t formed properly when I was born, that I was mute, that –

“You can’t speak?” Weasley asked them, turning in his seat to face me as Professor Boot finished assigning partners and finally started to give the lesson. So really, Weasley wasn’t concerned with avoiding getting caught by our Professor. I peeked at Weasley whose brows were drawn together as he chewed at the corner of his mouth in his contemplations. “You physically can’t form the words?”

Still facing the front, I looked to my parchment as if I was taking notes – I could always borrow them off of Noelle tonight. I took a moment to think before penning my answer and sliding the parchment towards Weasley so he could read it – I

_It’s not like that. I can speak – to certain people, in certain situations. It’s more like in situations of high anxiety, I can’t speak no matter how much I want to. I just can’t – so I have to find other ways o communicating._

“High anxiety?” he murmured, stopping his chewing. Weasley tilted his head towards me, seeming fascinated with me. “This situation is high anxiety for you?”

I nodded, searching his eyes slowly before abruptly looking away. Picking my quill, I scrawled quickly – _Very high anxiety_

Apprehensively, I peeked at him to see if he was offended by how uncomfortable I was around him; people got offended easily if you weren’t comfortable around them. As if your anxiety was a testament to their character as a person. He didn’t seem offended. Instead, he watched me with a curious expression before looking to the front once more. He picked up his own quill, preparing to listen to the lesson. I expected it to be the end of our conversation and started to work myself.

But then, he offered abruptly, “I’ll do my best to make sure that you’re not anxious around me; you shouldn’t feel like that for the rest of the year.”

For a moment, I wanted to study the Gryffindor beside me, taken by surprise at his gentle offer. I would have, had he not turned to look at me suddenly, smiling in a way that brought light to his eyes.

“Pladino – do you prefer writing or signing?”

_Well, paper and quill aren’t always around_

He considered my reasoning for a moment before nodding, as if deciding it made sense. And then he looked forward once more and this time, he actually paid attention to the lesson. I wished I could do the same – instead, I studied the very un-Gryffindor un-Weasley Gryffindor Weasley beside me. 

* * *

Spending the holidays away from the castle was always a welcome treat. Not only did I get to see my family, but I was in an environment that was so comfortable that I could talk. I could speak my mind to whoever I wanted in our home and upon returning to the castle, I was once more silenced. And, because I’d spent weeks away from the castle, there was always a short period of awkwardness and stress following the break. When it came to Charms, I was once more sitting beside Weasley and the slight progress I’d made in terms of not being so stressed out around Weasley, was erased.

The first few moments of spying him walking into the classroom, of watching each step he took towards our shared desk, had my heart beating uncomfortably in my chest, my throat closing as if to stop any words from leaving. It would pass – I knew it would pass until I grew just a tad more comfortable, but it would take some time.

Weasley, when he got close enough and felt my eyes on him, he smiled at me. Slowly, I returned it with one of my own – smaller and more timid, as he took the final steps towards our desk. Sitting down in the chair, Weasley removed what he needed from his bag and then set it on the floor. Then, as if leading up to something, he turned expectantly towards me. I raised a silent brow.

Then, Weasley breathed slowly, searching my eyes before raising his hands. I continued to watch him, wondering what was wrong until he waved and my confusion grew. Just as I went to wave back, my hand fell restlessly as raised his thumb on his right hand and touched his left shoulder than his right –

My mouth parted in surprise, eyes shooting to Weasley’s. He watched me hesitantly, gnawing once more on the corner of his lip until he slowly repeated the motions again.

_Hello. Good Morning._

Rowena –

I signed back, making sure my motions were slow enough for him to catch. As I came to the end of the greeting, Weasley smiled with blatant relief. His hands dropped to his lap and held onto them like he was worried that he would accidentally sign something he shouldn’t have. Instead, he spoke quickly and rather excitedly.

“I learned how to sign over the holiday – I’m still learning.” He shrugged a bit awkwardly and this time he was the one who couldn’t quite meet my eyes. “So, if you want to use sign language to talk to me – as long as it’s slow – I should be able to understand.”

Weasley looked me in the eyes then, waiting to see what I would do. And Merlin, I was uncertain. I was so unbelievably touched that he’d gone out of his way to learn sign language so he could speak to me and I wanted to ask him why he’d put in the effort. He certainly hadn’t needed to. Eventually, I reached for my quill and Weasley seemed a bit put out that I wasn’t yet willing to test his newly acquired skill.

_Did you learn sign language so you could talk to me?_

He made a motion as if slicing his right hand through his left – _Of course_

Distantly, Professor Boot was beginning the lesson, talking about what our aim for the next hour would be. But I paid him no mind. Silently, I apologised to Noelle because it seemed like I would be borrowing her notes again when we got back to the dorm. Instead, I was studying Weasley who continued to watch me and Merlin, there was something unspoken in his eyes that I knew he wanted me to ask. He wanted me to ask _why_ he’d put all the effort into learning an entire language for me.

So, I asked; pointing my index finger, I touched the opposite shoulder twice – _Why?_

For a moment, Weasley didn’t answer. Rather, he seemed to hesitate as he tried to decide what answer to give me. Whatever he decided, I simply hoped he was going to give me the truth – no matter what it was.

He sighed slightly, speaking aloud yet quietly as he said, “I wanted to be your friend.”

Even if I had been able to talk to him, I wouldn’t have the words to explain to him just how overwhelmingly grateful I was to him for taking these steps to communicate with me. His efforts made me just a little less uncomfortable with the world around me, a little more at ease.

Silently, I raised a hand in front of my mouth and gestured outwards – _Thank you_

“You’re welcome.”

I ducked my head to hide my smile behind my hair. Reaching for my quill, I tried to pay attention to the lecture when Weasley shuffled in his seat beside mine.

Lowering his head and making it look like he too was paying attention, Weasley spoke softly, “Pladino – am I any good at it? Sign language?”

With a nod, I glanced at him long enough to see that he was relieved. Satisfied, Weasley focused on the lesson and I did the same. 

* * *

Within the matter of a few short weeks, I’d developed a friendship with Hugo that I honestly never expected. But still, no matter how much I’d tried to keep him at arm’s length, there was only so much resistance I could show in the face of his earnest honesty. How was I supposed to keep him as an acquaintance when he’d gone out of his way to learn sign language to communicate with me and was making every effort to speak to me. How could I not become his friend? And how could my feelings not sway to become more – when no one had ever been so kind to me? Not that I would ever let Hugo now. How would he feel to find out that I’d went and gotten ahead of myself at the sign of any interest shown towards me?

Regardless of how often Hugo and I would walk through the corridor, signing to one another as we went, I made no effort to get to know his friends. And certainly, not to get to know his family. So really, there was no explanation for why I was suddenly surrounded by the members of his family that were still at the school; two Potters, his sister and Roxanne Weasley. Looking apprehensively at the four people around me, I tried my best to compose myself. Even as I heard my blood pounding in my ears, I clung to my school bag and tried to find my way out. It wasn’t as if I could just walk away. Not when they were all looking at me so eagerly.

I breathed out shakily, not comforted in the least when Weasley – the one that wasn’t his sister, tried to reassure me, “We just want to talk to the girl that’s got our Hugo wrapped so sweetly around her finger.”

I struggled still, swallowing through a tight through and looking to Hugo’s sister; had she also learnt how to sign. My hands shook at my side, and I just knew I’d fail if I tried to sign slow enough for her to understand. Thinking quickly, and with rising panic, I reached into my bag to try and find my quill and parchment –

“Hey,” Hugo’s sister said eventually, turning to the other members of her family and trying to get her to back away. She made them take a couple of steps back from me and the extra space helped slightly – not a lot, but slightly. “Back off guys – I told you not to overwhelm her.”

Before I could wonder just how often they’d talked about me – and Rowena, that was a terrifying thought – Hugo rounded the corner as if he was a knight coming to save a damsel in distress. At that moment, I felt very much like one. 

He’d appeared slowly, casually walking with his friends on their way back to the common room. But the moment his eyes raked across the crowded hallway and lingered on his family and then on me – my downright terrified face – he moved quickly. He said something to his friends before hurrying towards us and once he was close enough – physically putting his body between me and his family, I breathed out a sigh of relief. Turning to watch me from over his shoulder, Hugo’s eyes searched my face, trying to read how I felt. Silently, I reached out to clutch his robes between tight fists to stop him from moving. He offered me a reassuring smile before looking back to his family. I swore he narrowed his eyes warningly before he spoke.

“Why don’t I do the introductions?” he offered, clearing his throat. Hugo reached a single hand back, closing it over one of my fists and holding it steady. “Pladino – these are my cousins; Albus, Lily and Roxanne. And my sister – Rose. Everyone, this is Pladino.”

And then, before anyone could say anything before they could voice the probing questions that I just knew were on the tips of his family’s tongue, Hugo took my hand more firmly. He moved then, drawing me behind him. When his family protested, he told them not to be such ‘nosey bastards’ and I followed after him.

When we rounded the corner, Hugo’s pace slowed so I could fall into step beside him. We walked in silence for a while until Hugo stopped suddenly, turning towards me. He ran a hand anxiously through his hair, “I told them not to.” In the face of my silence, he spoke quickly, “They wanted to meet you and I told them multiple times not to crowd you. But they didn’t listen. I’m – Merlin, I’m sorry.”

I studied him for a moment, watching as his eyes lowered to the ground; he really was apologetic for his family crowding around me. Really, it hadn’t been his fault and they hadn’t done anything _too_ strange. The only thing that made it strange was me – my inability to properly cope with social situations.

Breathing out slowly, I reached a hand out to Hugo and shook his arm. He looked up then, searching my eyes before his gaze dropped to my hands as I signed a simple – _It’s alright_.

He didn’t seem to think so, given the way he sighed by said another word. Hugo shook his head again, sighing abruptly before offering, “Let me walk you back to your common room. I don’t put it past Rosie to try and corner you again.” 

* * *

Hugo’s signing had improved so much over the weeks that it was almost as if he’d been using sign language for years now, rather than months. It seemed; he was one of those people that could pick things up – especially things involving memory – up far easier than was fair. Still, _this_ skill made it easier to talk to him. Although, sometimes, I did catch him watching me wistfully when he thought I wasn’t paying any attention to him. He’d admitted that he wondered what my voice sounded like, but he didn’t push. Even if those looks were becoming more frequent.

My voice wasn’t lilting or beautiful or anything worthy of further contemplation but simply because he had never heard it before, it became this thing of great wonder, of beauty. Would he be disappointed when he heard it? _If_ he ever heard it?

Knuckles knocking against the table had me blinking from my thoughts. I looked up, across the library table towards Hugo who’d been sitting and – I thought – working on our charm’s coursework. When I raised a curious eyebrow, he set his quill down. For a moment, I thought he wouldn’t speak and I wanted to ask why he’d disturbed me if he didn’t want to talk. But then, he crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back, contemplating something.

Eventually, he probed gently, “Are you heading down to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

I shook my head, reaching for parchment when I simply couldn’t be bothered to sign at him. Scribbling down on the spare piece of parchment, I slid it towards him – _My friends all have dates and I can’t be bothered to walk around on my own. I’ve got no one to go with._

“Of course, you do. Go with me.” His offered lingered between us for a moment, but then, he said quickly as if he didn’t want me to understand, “Like a date. I’d like to go on a date with you.”

Eyebrows rising, I continued to watch him uncertainly; why would he want to go on a date with me? I signed just as much.

“Because I like you obviously.” He leaned against the table and offering me a smile that I struggled not to replicate. “Here I was thinking you’ve got an intelligent brain in there Pladino.”

I bit my lip to physically stop myself from smiling at him. Hugo continued to watch me, holding my eyes and waiting for a response. Slowly, I looked away from him and started to sign – _That’s sweet, Hugo. But_ –

He let me get no further, asking, “Why? If you’re rejecting me because you don’t like me that way, then it’s alright. But I don’t think that’s your reason why.”

For a moment, I struggled to respond to him, to think of a way of putting my thoughts into words. Eventually, I reached for my spare parchment again and wrote my response beneath my previous words.

_We can communicate like this – with quill and paper, with sign language – whilst we’re friends and you don’t get annoyed. You don’t wonder about when I’ll speak to you. If I ever will. But if we became anything more and you’d find it annoying and you’d get annoyed at yourself for getting annoyed at me. Especially if I can never talk to you._

For a moment, Hugo refused to look up from the parchment. I’d have thought he was still reading my answer, but then he shook his head. With a sigh, Hugo couldn’t help but ask, “Don’t you think that I’d know better than you what I’m likely to find annoying? Pladino?”

I simply shrugged, hoping that this conversation would come to an end. But Hugo was unwilling. Slowly, in the face of my continued hesitance, he probed slowly, “Unless you think that just because you have selective mutism, you can’t date? Surely that’s not it?”

I didn’t dare meet his eyes. He could think whatever he wanted to. But the moment I met his eyes, he’d be able to read my most inner feelings. That was the downside of not being able to tell him how I was feeling; I couldn’t lie. Hugo had become so extremely good at reading my emotions from my every micro-expression that it was unfair. It didn’t matter; he saw right through me anyway.

Sighing slowly, Hugo reached out and placed a hand on top of mine. Before I could retract it, he turned my hand slowly so it rested palm up and he could trace his fingertips softly across it. My eyes trailed after his motions, watching as he traced all the lines and creases of my palm.

“You know that’s not the case,” he tried to reason, eyes trained on my face. “I fancy you Pladino, all of you. And maybe one day, when you feel more secure around me, you’ll be able to talk to me.”

I searched his eyes then, wondering where this infinite hope of his came from. I’d known my dormmates, my friends for five years now and spent my every free second with them. And yet, I’d only been able to talk to them at the end of fourth year. Would he stick around that long?

Removing my hand, I signed slowly – _What if that never happens?_

His gaze was steady as he parried, _it won’t matter._


	2. Epilogue: 1 Year Later

_1 YEAR LATER_

Hugo was a Prefect and because he was a Prefect, we could often sneak out past curfew or to parts of the castle that were off-limits and receive next to no punishment in response. As long as we weren’t caught by a teacher – _that_ was when we wound up losing points from our houses. But, right now, as we sat in one of the restricted areas of the castle, those thoughts were at the back of my mind.

It was a Hogsmeade weekend – and Hugo’s birthday and because I’d wanted to do something for him, I had been willing to risk heading down into Hogsmeade. But Hugo, knowing just how overwhelmed I became in Hogsmeade, instead came up with the idea of sneaking off to an abandoned part of the castle after having ransacked the kitchens for food.

I listened silently, tearing off part of a croissant as Hugo retold me a story of some of the trouble his cousins had gotten up to during the holiday. He insisted, between laughs, that I needed to meet these troublemaker cousins of his – James and Fred – but then he caught himself, adding a quiet that I could meet them whenever I was comfortable with the idea. Bumping my shoulder against his, I eyed him teasingly; he always worried about me. Even when he really didn’t need to.

Slowly, Hugo delved back into his story, reaching for the bottle of apple juice he’d swiped from the kitchen. He hesitated for a moment, looking to the bottle of pumpkin juice. Holding both glass bottles aloft, he asked, “Which one?”

Popping the rest of the croissant into my mouth, I gestured towards the bottle of pumpkin juice. Setting the apple juice aside, Hugo reached across me to pick up my empty glass. Holding the glass in one hand, he used the other to open the bottle and poured me some. Passing the glass back to me, Hugo reached for his glass and turned his back to me.

My eyes lingered on his back for a moment, hesitating as my eyes dropped to the glass in my hand. I took a small sip, hesitating once more before clearing my throat. “Hugo.”

Heart thundering in my chest, I swore that all sound faded away and a faint ringing took its place as Hugo turned sharply back towards me. His glass shook slightly in his hand, eyes searching over me and I swallowed thickly. He opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, looking like the two syllables I’d spoken had robbed him of all his. I breathed out slowly again, looking away from his wide eyes and down to my glass.

“Hugo.” It was easier to say this time. I watched him from beneath my lashes, trying to watch his reaction and Merlin, it looked like he was going to faint. It was certainly a possibility that I’d anticipated with humour and dismissed but I didn’t think that he would _really_ look on the verge of it. Swallowing thickly, I forced myself to continue when he simply didn’t seem able to speak. “Thank you.”

My gratitude snapped him out of it then as he struggled for words. Eventually, he set it glass down, reaching out to take my own. He put it down in front of me and held my hand in his, “For what? It’s just a drink.”

He didn’t understand; that I wasn’t thanking him for the drink. Not _just_ for the drink, anyway. I was thanking him for everything. For not getting annoyed at me when I couldn’t speak to him, for not growing irritated when I couldn’t be as close to him as he wanted me to be. Hugo took all my baggage without a word of complaint and the words thank you simply didn’t seem to be enough. Even if I could speak in front of him now, I simply didn’t have the words for it – there weren’t enough words in my dictionary.

“Not for the drink,” I admitted softly, still watching his reaction. He looked better now – still completely shocked but not as if he was going to faint. But I could see it plain as day; he didn’t understand. And that was alright.

Before I could speak another word, although I wasn’t sure what I could possibly say to him, Hugo surged towards me then. One hand at the back of my head and another cradling my waist, he kissed me slowly and with so much obvious affection – love? – that I couldn’t help but melt into him. Grasping his face between steady hands, I knew we didn’t need any words for this.

Reluctantly, Hugo drew away from me with a blinding smile. He chuckled slowly, shaking his head as if he wanted not to seem so overwhelmingly happy. Slowly, he asked, “Can I hear it again? My name?”

“Hugo,” I murmured again. He rewarded me with a kiss, one that lasted longer than the first.

He drew back once more, “Again?”

Even to my ears, I sounded more confident now. “Hugo.”

Hugo kissed me again. Longer and sweeter and I could taste the chocolate on his tongue. I sighed against his mouth, reluctantly drawing away from him. This time, he pleaded softly. “Again?”

Laughing under my breath, I reached for him, drawing him closer and pressing my forehead against his. Leaning down, I spoke against his mouth, “Hugo.”


End file.
